Poetry Corner pt. 2

Assignment: write your "swan song." (Swan Song? Whaat? Explanation: The phrase "swan song" is a reference to an ancient belief that the Mute Swan (Cygnus olor) is completely mute during its lifetime until the moment just before it dies, when it sings one beautiful song.)
Here we are. My last song. I'm a creeper. And yes, I took the idea from the metric imitation poem I just posted and copied the rhythm of 2 separate jump roping ditties. If you can figure out which ones, then you're a wonder. Or just a girl who jump roped a lot as a child.

One for the Children

Beatrix Potter,
Strawberry wine,
Fourteen girls named Madeline.
Hair pulled up and tied in a bun
Tilt their heads and drink their rum.

Grimm, Grimm, patronym
Killing off all your ladies
Shove them in a burning oven
Have them bludgeoned in a dungeon
Chamomile tea.

Snow. Sleep. Red. Rabbit.
Snow. Sleep. Red.

Poetry Corner

I've been lax with my posting lately, including posting my lame-o poems. So here comes a few in a row.
Assignment: Copy the meter of another poem and create your own piece.

Poem I imitated:

Question
by May Swenson

Body my house
my horse my hound
what will I do
when you are fallen

Where will I sleep
How will I ride
What will I hunt

Where can I go
without my mount
all eager and quick
How will I know
in thicket ahead
is danger or treasure
when Body my good
bright dog is dead

How will it be
to lie in the sky

without roof or door
and wind for an eye

With cloud for shift
how will I hide?


Mine:

Sirens

Building of sand
of only air
stones grind to ash
beneath a whisper

How do you stand
Why don't you cave
When will you fall

How many lives
will you take claim
collecting their souls
Your fateful collapse
is drawing us near
is pulling us further
You building of sand
are not my home

Poor Poor Poem

This week's assignment was to write an imitation poem.
The poem I'm imitating:

The Woman Who Is Early
by Nin Andrews

The Woman Who Is Early is always at least one step ahead of
time. She is always rushing and rushing. Where-ever she goes,
she is already there long before she arrives. Whatever she is
saying, she has already said it before the words leave her lips.
Whatever song she is singing she is already so sick of it, and she
wishes she could get it out of her mind. Whatever meal she is
preparing, she has eaten it before taking the first bite. Whatever
man she desires, she had made love to him a thousand times
before he ever undresses her. A man can never make love to her
the way he did once upon a time, before he made love to her. Of
course therapists tell her she should slow down and rest a spell.
Relax. She has heard those words long before she ever sees
therapists. Does she have to explain it to them again? How a
great wave is chasing her? It is rising above her head even as she
thinks of it. If she looks back, just once, it will wash over her.
She will instantly drown. Of course, she is right. That's why she
has already drowned.

My poor imitation of it.
At least this class is teaching me literary humility.

The Woman Who Is Late
after Nin Andrews

The Woman Who Is Late is always at least one step behind time.
She is always lounging and lazing. Wherever she goes, she never arrives.
Whatever she is saying, she says to no one in particular since they
have already gone before she can speak. Whatever book she loves,
she never reads since it has long since gone out of publication. Whatever
meal she makes, she has to throw away since it has expired before she
can taste it. Whatever high school sweetheart she longs for, she tries to
seduce after he has already married and retired. A man can never love her
when she is only now in the present, considering the boy of the past. Of
course everyone tells her that she needs to stop dawdling and stop making
everyone else wait for her. Hurry up. She doesn’t hear these words until it’s
too late. Why didn’t they tell her sooner? Can they not see that the moving
sidewalk she is on even now is slowing? She chases the people ahead of her but she can’t ever seem to reach them. If she trips and falls, just once, she’ll be sent flying backward. She will never be able to catch up. Of course, she is right. That’s why she is left alone in the past.

Macabre Poem Monday

("Macabre" here, meaning: 1. gruesome and horrifying; ghastly; horrible.)
This week's assignment was to write about details. I didn't. HA! Stick it to the man.
(For why I'm writing poems, go here)

Burdens
My face too large.
Their bodies too small.
My face against the ground.
Their bodies running in circles.
Me.
Them.
Human.
Ants.
I watch.
They carry the bodies of their fallen friends.
I wonder.
They set one down and pick another one up.
I say, “It’s time to let them go.”
They say, “It’s time for you too.”

It's kind of shaped like an ant head/neck/shoulders...weird and unplanned. I'M NOT CRAZY!!

Terrible Poem Tuesday

I'm in a poetry class this quarter. I have to suffer so you do too. (Not that I don't really mind writing poetry, it's just that whole critiquing poetry thing. How are you supposed to do that? With essays, it's easy. It makes sense or it doesn't. It's grammatically correct or it's not. With poetry, you can do whatever the heck you want. So welcome to my life for the next 10 weeks.)

This week's assignment: Write a direct address to "you."

Give You Away
by Kelly Maitlen


Do
Not
Touch me.

All day
You ignore me.


I try to hold you
But you push me
Away.

Now
You want to be near me?
Now
You want my love?

Leave
Me
Alone.

We sleep alone at night.
What makes you think
I want you here now
in the day?

Your body
has no place
next to mine.
This bed
is only big enough
for one.

I am beneath these blankets
to keep you out
not to entice you beneath them.

I just
Want
To sleep.

Have you finally gone?
Thank—
God!
Get
Out
Now.

Keep your whiskers
Off my cheek
And your nose
Out of my ear
And for God’s sake

Get
Off
My head!

Fine.
You win.

Oh don’t smirk.
You forget
These hands
Are the ones that feed you.
These, the fingers
That scratch your ears.

I know.
I love you, too.

Wake me again tomorrow
And I’ll
Give
You
Away.

(ed., As if you didn't already know I'm a crazy cat lady. Yikes. Might as well end off strong with a picture of my cats, Cricket and Ducky.)